The Tale of the Three Brothers
by PunsandPoses
Summary: My take on J.K. Rowling's tale. Lots of angst. Full warnings in first chapter/
1. The Summary

**Warnings: Mild Gore, Depression, Murder, Suicidal Thoughts/Actions**

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Arthur, and his two brothers, Alfred and Matthew, were walking along a lonely path at twilight. After traveling for several hours, they encountered a raging river, too wide and deep to cross by foot, by too swift to use a raft or boat.

Together, they raised their wands. The trio created a bridge of wood, stone, and dirt. Almost immediately after crossing, their path was blocked by a hooded figure. He said his name was Death, and he was furious at being cheated of new victims, for travelers always drowned in the river. But Death was clever.

"What fine warlocks you are!" Death exclaimed, red eyes gleaming with malice. "To use your magical abilities so wisely, so brilliantly! Whatever could I do to reward such prowess?"

Arthur was the first to step forward. "A weapon to beat any foe, to conquer anything!" For he was always in a fight, and he felt that since he had defeated Death, he would show so with a powerful item.

Death walked to a elder tree and fashioned a wand. He handed it to Arthur, smiling darkly.

Alfred was the second. "An object that could bring back the dead!" He wanted to humiliate Death, as well.

Death plucked a black stone from the river and handed it to Alfred.

Matthew did not trust Death, and so he asked, "Can I have an item that could hide me even from you?"

Death's grin faltered for a moment. Reluctantly, he handed over his own Invisibility Cloak. He vanished a moment later, and the brothers were alone again.

"Wow," Alfred exclaimed. "I could bring back the dead!"

"I could finally defeat that frog Bonnefoy!" Arthur cackled.

"It is amazing," Matthew agreed, studying the silver fabric of the Cloak.

After a few more days of traveling, the brothers separated.

Arthur went to a distant village, where his rival lived. After a short duel, his rival Francis was dead. He then went to the local tavern, where he boasted of his skills and of his duel. Later, asleep in his bed, another rival, whose name was Antonio, took his wand, and for good measure, cut his throat. From his bloody body, Death took his soul.

And so Death claimed the first brother.

Alfred arrived at his home, and upon turning the onyx three times in his hand, was delighted to see his lover, Ivan, who had been killed by a jealous admirer, Wang. But Ivan was depressed and distant, for he was not meant to live again in this world.

Made insane by his own hopeless longing, Alfred killed himself to truly join Ivan. From his swinging corpse, Death captured his soul.

And so Death took the second brother.

Matthew hid away for many years, living to a great age. At the moment he was ready to die, he finally took off his beloved Cloak and revealed himself to Death. He handed it to his son.

Death came to take Matthew, and as equals, they departed this life.

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 **Hi, this is my Hetalian take on the story by the (amazing) writer of Harry Potter. OK, first off, this is going to be very angst-y, so I warn you. Also, Germany/Prussia are not brothers. I apologize.**

 **Characters: England, America, Canada, Prussia, China, Russia, France, Spain, S. and N. Italy (mention), Germany (mention), and an Original Character.**

 **Ships: FrUk, RusAme, One-Sided RoChu, PruCan, GerIta (mentioned), Spamano (mentioned)**

 **IMPORTANT: If you know you are going to be triggered by the content, and that it will upset you (not in the "crying over fanfiction because it's so sad" way, but in a "I am going to riot because of this" way), then DO NOT READ IT. If you are purposefully reading triggering content just so you can rile people up, that is not okay, and it is irritating to get messages about how triggering our content is, even when we WARNED the reader what would be in the story. Again- if you know it is going to trigger you, DO NOT READ.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the original "Tale of the Three Brothers" or any Hetalia character.**


	2. Arthur

**Warnings: Murder (Multiple)**

 **I do not own any characters.**

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Arthur honestly couldn't tell you how his rivalry started. Maybe some distant argument, over Francis' hair style, or Arthur's eyebrows, but that's how it was. Fighter against fighter. Neither backing down though they knew they would cause their own damnation.

So when he had gotten the wand from Death, he was ecstatic at finally being able to defeat Francis.

Nevermind that it would end in murder, Francis' cold body falling to the stone floor, coats ruffled.

Nevermind that secretly, Arthur loved Francis, and he hated what they had become.

As he strode down that small, dingy alley to a tavern, his mind flitted to a memory he barely wanted to remember anymore.

 _"Go away, Bonnefoy," the fifteen-year-old Arthur said, green eyes tired. "I don't give a damn."_

 _"Fuck you, Kirkland, you can barely even curse." Francis jeered._

 _"That all you got, frog?" Arthur was way too close, even he knew it but he ignored it for the sake of his anger. Emerald eyes searched sapphire, but there was nothing he could find. No expression._

 _Francis slammed Arthur against a nearby brick wall. The folds in his blue jacket, once so carefully arranged, every stitch of the cloth perfectly formed, hung as if they were suspended puppets._

 _The townsfolk were nowhere nearby, all having left at the prospect of another of the infamous duels so often made between the Englishman and the Frenchman. The two even had a nickname, "Enchie"._

 _Without consiously knowing it, Arthur had grasped the front of Francis' coat, and he had pulled the other closer, placing the Frenchman within a couple inches of him._

 _Then, with a sudden feeling of wild_ _exhilaration_ _, he kissed him._

 _For a moment, there was nothing, Arthur's lips pressed silently against the other's, Francis' eyes wide. Then he closed them with a satisfied hum, pressing the shorter back into the wall. It soon became a battle for dominance, tongues waging a war on each other, but all too soon, Arthur yanked himself away, Francis letting out a mix of a groan and a sigh._

 _And the former practically ran away, sleeve frantically wiping against his mouth._

That remained the only time they kissed.

Pausing to lean on a wall, not unlike the way Francis had shoved him so many years before, Arthur glared at any passerby foolish enough to stop and wonder why he was frowning so intensely. "Gits, the lot of you."

The tavern was loud, as usual, Lovino making his usual drunk claims and insults while Antonio snuck glances, his Spanish navy uniform gleaming in the light of the dim lanterns. Matthias, his hair spiked and his formerly white dress shirt almost brown from a mix of dirt, sweat, and grease, eyed Arthur suspiciously. Only Feliciano was enough of an idiot to try and clean the counter, giving up as the wet rag he was using blackened with grime after one swipe.

"A brandy, please," Arthur said, ignoring the squeak Feliciano gave when a tall, blonde man walked in the door. (There was an enormous amount of blonds in the town, himself included.)

He doubted it was anyone special, and he was correct, seeing as Feliciano blushed at the man's presence and tried desperately to not look like he was trying desperately to stop blushing.

When his slightly over-poured drink arrived, Arthur relished the bite of the liquor as it slid warmly down to his stomach. Ordering another, he enjoyed the somewhat ridiculous haze that started to develop in his mind.

Dimly, he was aware that that second drink had turned into a fifth, and that a blond, blue-eyed man had entered the tavern, his blue coat swishing as he imperiously looked around.

"So, Arthur, I see you haven't changed a bit. Order too much? Or did your drinking habits just get better?" Francis chuckled, a low musical sound that both sent Arthur's nerves aflame and made him want to test out this new wand.

"Go fuck yourself, digusting pig that you are. How's the whorehouse, I hear you're on the tenth. Also, did you know your cousin's a dirty-" Just like in the memory, he didn't know what he was doing, he just knew, and it was on this that Arthur drew his new wand.

Francis' face twisted into a mask or rage, and the patrons of the tavern started to draw towards the walls, even Lovino was looking unnerved. Arthur felt his face crack in a demented grin.

The duel was short, Francis having missed him by a fraction, but Arthur's aim was true, the Killing Curse hitting the other in a flash of green light. Francis toppled like a house of cards. Arthur missed the greedy look on Antonio's face, too busy drinking wine and gloating about his success and his wand.

In a dingy inn room, Antonio crept in on Arthur, who had fallen asleep the moment his head had touched the pillow. His tanned hand snatching away the wand, he raised a silver knife.

Five minutes later, Antonio long gone, Arthur choked to death on his own blood, staining the sheets on the bed crimson and unable to cry out, his vocal cords slit.

Death, his red eyes watching this, snatched Arthur's soul, seeing the bright green die down to a mellow lime. Spreading skeletal black wings, he padded away to tell Matthew.

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 **I do not really think England is as darkly characterized as I portray him here. He is merely like this because the story needs the three brothers to have specific characteristics, like arrogance and humility.**


	3. Alfred

**Warnings: Depression, Suicidal Thoughts/Actions, Murder, Witchcraft**

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Alfred stared at the stone. It shone brightly in the light of his wand, the onyx and obisdian within creating an eerie effect that both scared and elated him. Turning it three times in his hand, he imagined Ivan, who had died at the knife and wand of Wang Yao. He could remember the exact shade of Ivan's eyes, a purple which was unlike any he had seen before.

He remembered seeing Ivan for the first time. It had seemed like a dream, and the memory had faded somewhat. He remembered how fiery the other's eyes had been, how much he'd looked like an angel. An avenging angel, bitter over loss and ready to cut down any enemy in his path. Then, of course, he was cursing in Russian, at himself, at Alfred, at the horses that were whinnying with fright-

Then, thinking only of his one great love, he watched as a shadow formed. At first, it was merely a shapeless blob, but a head and arms formed, then legs, bright violet shining out from the face. And Ivan was formed, himself again, his purple eyes glittering, and Alfred fell in love with him again.

 _The ivory-haired man was watching him with a look he had never had before._

 _"What?" Alfred asked, grinning slightly. "Something weird on my face? I knew I didn't wipe off all that mud I had on."_

 _"No, it's not that." And Ivan captured Alfred's lips in a kiss, and it was sweet and slow and just what Alfred thought it would be. Perfect._

 _'Wow,' he thought to himself, 'so this is what being in love feels like.'_

"What? Where am I?" Ivan asked in the present, frantic. "Where are the sunflowers? Where are my sisters?" His eyes fell on Alfred, who was grinning. Then he shook his head and looked sorrowfully at Alfred. "Alfred, did you bring me back?"

Alfred didn't notice the sorrow written on Ivan's face, saying, "Yes! I missed you so much, and it was really hard, and then Death came, and he said I could ask whatever I want, and I would get it-"

"Death? You went to Death himself? Why, Alfred, I was so happy. I had everything I ever wanted, my sisters back again, sunflowers, _everything_. You can't bring people back from the dead. It is not right!"

"I...I really fucking missed you, okay?" Alfred exploded. "Wang's dead now, I meant for that, he was insane and I think a little murderous, and I honestly wanted to _kill_ everyone for a long time there. What did you do, Ivan, sitting in your sunflowers, drinking vodka, _happy_?"

"Alfred, you really don't get it, do you? We were never meant to be truly together. It was written in the stars that we would be torn apart. I was upset, for a while, but eventually, I understood: you were meant to live, Alfred. And find someone else. I was meant to die, along with the rest of my family. The Braginsky's have never had luck, and that night, it ran into Wang. I met Wang where I was. He's terribly sorry, we both are, I can see you from where I am. Once, I spoke to you in a dream, but you didn't remember it."

"But...I loved you. I still do. I love you so much, and for you to tell me that we weren't meant to be together...Good god, Ivan, how do you sleep at night?"

"I don't," Ivan said uncomfortably. "I haven't slept since I died. Haven't eaten or drunk anything, either. What I wouldn't give for a bottle of alcohol..."

And so their first night back together, they spent in different rooms, eyes watching each other warily, wanting to know what the other would do.

The days passed in a state of greyness, Ivan desperately wishing he could die again, Alfred slowly growing sadder with each hour that passed with Ivan at a window with a bottle of vodka, Alfred watching him with sorrow in his bones.

 _"Hey, Ivan," Alfred said, smiling. "Do you wanna make something?"_

 _"Like what, Ivan countered, eyes sparkling despite his harsh tone. "A lemon? A chair?"_

 _"I already have a chair," Alfred said, rolling his eyes, "why would I need another one?"_

 _"I don't know. You're a strange one. It's amazing how you even function." Ivan wrapped a friendly arm around his shoulders, briefly rubbing at his hair where peanut butter had managed to get stuck._

 _"God, shut up." Alfred pressed a quick kiss on his lips, smiling. "You're lucky I won't curse you."_

 _Ivan gave a tiny grin, then he retaliated, kissing Alfred so surely and happily that the latter melted, arms around the other's waist._

Alfred waged a silent war with himself every night, wondering if he could really put Ivan out of his misery, and if he could just be able to send him to wherever the dead go.

Back to sunflowers and sisters and happiness.

But he really wanted Ivan there too, with him, selfish as that was. He wanted long afternoons in the sun again, with sweet kisses that lasted, it seemed, for years.

He wanted to be close to Ivan, their bodies intertwined with each other, sleep stealing away the day and replacing it with dreams.

At last, he fell asleep, the soft rhythm of Ivan's breath next to him.

 _The long day was almost over. Alfred, with a smile on his face, watched as Matthew picked a flower, his latest beau grinning placidly._

 _"It's truly amazing," Mattie said to his beau, "that Alfred is such a fool. Everyone knows the dead must never come back, if they do, then they're miserable. Isn't that right, Juliet?"_

 _Juliet smirked and turned to Alfred. "That's right, Matthew. Alfred has done a great evil. He will never be allowed with the dead, when he dies. A lonely ghost."_

 _Matthew walked to Juliet, holding out his hand. Inside was the black stone that Death had given to Alfred. "A lonely ghost, never to see his great love again."_

 _Juliet took the stone, chanting, "A lonely ghost, a lonely ghost, forever alone, the lonely ghost."_

 _She smiled, and her teeth elongated, her tan skin turning waxen and deathly white._

 _"A lonely ghost, a lonely ghost, forever alone, the lonely ghost."_

 _Her fingers, long and white, stroked the onyx, while she chanted. Matthew smiled gently at his transformed friend._

 _"A lonely ghost, a lonely ghost, forever alone, the lonely ghost."_

 _Matthew and Juliet chanted, their eyes black and glittering, Death reaching a skeletal hand toward Alfred, grinning that cunning grin of his, all three chanting, " A lonely ghost, a lonely ghost, forever alone, the lonely ghost..."_

Alfred sat bolt upright in bed, panting, Ivan watching him curiously.

"What is the lonely ghost?" Ivan asked, eyes showing both concern and hope.

"Me," Alfred croaked out. "I am the lonely ghost." And he didn't speak for the rest of the day.

The next weeks were full of misery. Ivan, finally used to being hungry and tired again, fell into a stupor, a bottle of whatever alcohol was lying around always in his hand. Alfred was silent, but tears ran down his face when Ivan wasn't looking.

Neighbors came for a few moments, then they left when they saw the state of their home and the depressed silence they had fallen into.

Alfred took to remembering the dream he had, and the night Ivan had died.

 _The night was silent, Alfred in deep sleep, Ivan padding around the room. Downstairs, a quick spell unlocked the door, a quick Silencing charm muffling the loud creak of the front door._

 _A knife glinted in the intruder's hand, his ebony ponytail swishing as he crept up the stairs towards the bedroom. Ivan heard a curse as the floor creaked. He woke Alfred, motioning that there was someone there. Alfred hastily grabbed his wand, the sycamore and unicorn hair of which felt familiar in his hand._

 _The door burst open, Wang Yao standing in the doorway, an angry look painted on his face. The black of his hair made his skin look pale. He raised a sharp silver knife, then threw it directly at Alfred._

 _Ivan leapt in front of the other, taking the blade directly to his chest. Wang sent a quick Killing Curse towards Ivan, finishing what he had started._

 _Alfred, half-mad with grief, kept sending spells towards the fleeing Wang, and the finality of that moment where Wang had killed Ivan crashing down over him in tidal waves, in riptides. Alfred was carried away in a sea of despair, and he drowned, the tears making a sea of his own self, washing away. A part of himself lost forever._

Alfred stared at the unsent letters. He had Apparated to each of them, and had told them both the news. Arthur had started yelling, in pain, in grief, in whatever. Matthew was silent, but tears ran tracks down his his face, his violet eyes distressed.

 _Why?_ was the question that had been written in Alfred's head for so long.

Even when Wang had been killed by him, even when the waves of depression finally started to wash away, leaving his broken mind and body to try and pick up the pieces of themselves, it had nagged at him for so long.

Why had Wang killed Ivan? Why had he sent the knife toward Alfred, knowing full well that it would never reach him, that it would be intercepted by the other?

 _Because he hated Ivan. He used to love him, but then he hated him._ The answer had finally reached him. Two years after Ivan had died, a year since Wang had been killed, the answer came in sudden clarity.

Wang had loved Ivan. But Ivan had never loved him back. That was why he had turned insane, that was why he murdered Ivan. Ivan was Wang Yao's one love, his only heartbreak. And Alfred had stolen him away.

 _"Ivan," Alfred asked, "what would you do if I died?"_

 _"Well," Ivan replied, "I would be sad for a while, but then I would realize that I would see you again eventually. So I wouldn't go mad. What would you do?"_

 _"I wouldn't be sad," Alfred said, "because death is never the end."_

Grief like he had never felt before smashed him to pieces. Alfred started sobbing, regret, guilt, and sadness wriggling into his heart, and he realized that this Ivan wasn't really Ivan, it was a shadow, and he would never see his Ivan again until he truly died.

The shadow Ivan, who had turned to see what the sobbing was about, started to fade. Alfred watched as he left, tears blurring his vision. At last, only a pair of violet eyes, the color of bellflowers and majesty and heartbreak, and they vanished, leaving a suffering Alfred behind.

Alfred conjured a length of rope, shaking fingers knotting the loop tightly. Fastening it to the ceiling, he put his head in the noose, stepped away from the chair, and let go.

 _"So?" Wang asked, nervous. His eyes darted all around._

 _"Kiss you?" Ivan laughed. His eyes were sparkling. "Is it for practice? I knew it! You do fancy Mary."_

 _"Yeah, yeah, get over it," Wang snorted. "It's as friends, right?"_

 _"Yes," Ivan said, "Best friends."_


End file.
